


They’ll Talk

by Humbleapplecrumble



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Angst, Ball, First Kiss, Get Together, Harry Potter - Freeform, One Shot, Oneshot, dramione - Freeform, soft
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-04
Updated: 2019-12-04
Packaged: 2021-02-26 00:13:45
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,555
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21674263
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Humbleapplecrumble/pseuds/Humbleapplecrumble
Summary: Hermione and Draco grow closer through meeting accidentally at a bench overlooking the lake.***Totally new to Dramione but I am so for it. Also a sucker for a first kiss/get together/angsty stories so here is my attempt.I adore HP but will without a doubt be Tom Riddled with inaccuracies and mistakes - they’re all my own!
Relationships: Hermione Granger & Draco Malfoy, Hermione Granger/Draco Malfoy, dramione
Comments: 6
Kudos: 86





	They’ll Talk

It had become “their” spot. 

On brighter days, Hermione would lug her library books out into the open and round the side of the castle, a view of the Black Lake in clear sight. A small wooden bench lay against the castle wall, seemingly long forgotten. It was beautifully quiet, and gave her some space from the bustling castle.

It had started on a spring day. It wasn’t warm, but pleasant enough if you were wrapped up properly. She held her newest book to her chest and marched to her favourite spot, only to find her least favourite Slytherin there instead. 

“Oh...” she trailed off. “Sorry, I’ll go.” She turned and began to walk away, but he barked after her.  
“No.” She looked back at him, but he avoided her eye contact. “S’fine.”

Wordlessly, she sat by him. Her favourite place felt different with someone sharing it, but not worse. The pair sat in silence; she read her book and he simply watched over the lake. As the minutes passed she became a little more comfortable with the company, almost forgetting there was any at all.

The next time, she’d got there first. She could see the clear disappointment on his face, but he fought through it. She assumed that was because it would have been more awkward at that point to leave than to stay. “May I?” He asked reluctantly.  
She nodded. “Of course.”  
Again, they sat in silence. 

It happened repeatedly over the coming weeks, though they stopped apologising and asking for permission. On the sixth occasion, Malfoy looked over at her and the book spread on her lap. “Potions?” he asked curiously.  
She was startled, unsure of how to respond, before remembering that at the end of the day he was just another wizard. “Yes,” she answered simply. The conversation ended there, but the atmosphere had shifted between them. 

The following occasion, Hermione found Draco fiddling with a piece of parchment. He fed it through his fingers repeatedly and his knee bobbed up and down unnervingly. After a while, she felt it right to ask. “Are you alright?”

He stammered in response. “Yes. No. Just pissed off,” he mumbled. She turned back to her book, expecting the conversation to end, but he continued. “My father wrote me. He wants me to switch classes,” he paused and looked at her briefly, then back at the letter. “I dropped herbology, and he’s furious.” His leg continued to tap. 

Hermione nodded. “I understand,” she said gently. “It’s none of my business of course, but your father isn’t you. If you prefer potions, or charms, or whatever the hell it is frankly, stand by it. He’ll come round.”

She braced herself for a telling-off, but Malfoy nodded, acknowledging her response. No insults, no name calling. He just nodded, and then left. 

They continued to cross paths at the forgotten little bench by the lake. Sometimes they said nothing, sometimes they’d share something. On the day that she sat at the bench alone, unaccompanied, Hermione realised that she was disappointed. She had unknowingly been waiting for his arrival. That was something she hadn’t seen coming. 

On that same afternoon, Draco had been bouncing along to his usual spot before he stopped dead in his tracks at the realisation that he was looking forward to seeing what Hermione was reading that day. Hermione Granger. His friend? Surely not. He felt queasy and his stomach flipped with a mixture of emotions, before he felt too sick to continue and turned his back on his beloved spot. 

They caught each other’s eyes in their classes more often. He looked at her, or she looked at him, but it was happening more and more frequently. Each of them noticed it, and noticed the other noticing it too. Something was different. 

A warm summer’s day arrived and Draco found Hermione scribbling viciously, clearly unsettled. It was an unfamiliar look on her, so curiosity got the better of him. “Trouble?”  
She continued to scribble. “Yes, actually,” she answered in the short tone she was known for.  
He couldn’t help it. “Oh, so not so clever after all, are we, Granger?”  
She snapped her book shut and immediately made to leave.

“No, wait,” he said sharply, grabbing her arm as she stood. “I’m sorry, I’m an arse. It comes out like a reflex. I can help, if you would like.”  
Hermione frowned at him but he looked sincere. He nodded with reassurance, so she sat back down and opened the book.  
“Fine... you see, it’s the brewing of this potion. I can’t made head nor tail of it. Have you seen this before?”  
He shuffled slightly along the bench to take a better look at the page, sitting right next to her. “Yeah,” he said with a laugh. “Actually, I failed my exam when we brewed this, so I demanded that Snape explain it to me.” He rambled on about the brewing process and explained clearly the difference between this particular recipe and others, at home in this area of comfort. She was in awe of how relaxed he seemed; she’d never heard him speak so calmly to another person - especially not to a Griffindor like her. She nodded in the right places and took notes, understanding the text much clearer.  
“It’s an exception to the usual rules,” he summarised. “Hopefully that helps.”  
The pair went quiet but stayed next to one another. Eventually, Hermione knew she’d be late for class and found herself disappointed to leave. She gathered her things, before thanking her unexpected companion.  
“S’alright,” he shrugged coolly. He watched her walk away, wondering if she was feeling anything like the angst that he was.  
And of course she was. Hermione held her books close to her chest as always, but grinned along her way. 

By the end of the year, the pair just so happened to meet at the bench almost everyday. Hermione was running out of excuses for Harry and Ron, and they’d already sussed out that she wasn’t in the library telling them she wanted some peace and quiet did the trick - they weren’t overly keen on questioning further. Girls were not one of their areas of strength.

“You going to the ball with Weasley, then?” Draco questioned one evening, trying hard to sound curious instead of bitter.  
Hermione tried her hardest not to smile at his mention of the ball. “Actually, no, I’m not.”  
Draco swallowed - he was not expecting that answer. 

He knew he should ask her; it was the perfect opportunity. But he couldn’t find the words.  
“Ah. Good. You can do better anyway,” he shrugged, trying his hardest to sound impartial.  
‘Ask her,’ he scolded himself. ‘Fucking ask her.’  
“Thanks, I guess?” she murmured, unsure of whether it was a compliment. 

‘Ask. Ask ask ask.’

“I imagine you’ve had plenty of offers,” she suggested, prying as hard as she could.  
“A few,” he shrugged. He figures that if he sounded like he was difficult to pin down, she might go ahead and ask him herself.  
The pair sat silently, an awkward cloud of angst surrounding them. They each willed the other to be brave, but neither could. 

As she walked back to her dormitory, Hermione felt her eyes burn. It wasn’t time for denial - she longed for him to ask her. She could hardly believe that herself, but it was true. And if he was ever going to ask her, that was the opportunity. She felt an idiot. 

As he sat alone on their bench, Malfoy wondered how on Hogwarts he was going to fix this ridiculous blunder. It needed to be a gesture. A clear one. He summoned his owl and wracked his brain. How could he ask Hermione Granger to the ball?

She burst through her bedroom door, but halted the second she saw it. On her pillow lay a beautifully crisp rose, emerald green on the inside and out. Its stem formed a matching strap, a perfect fit for her wrist. 

Surely, only a Slytherin would leave such a gift. 

***

The boys had already left her, jumping at the chance to dance with real girls. She’d cheered them on, knowing neither Ron nor Harry had ever had any real time to make relationships. She smiled at their lack of coordination fondly as they danced across the room. 

Hermione sat at her table playing with the folds of her dress when she felt the presence of someone in front of her. She glanced up and saw him towering, his signature grin plastered across his face. The face she’d hated so much before, yet welcomed in this moment. 

Somehow, his robes were blacker than anyone else’s in the room, and his eyes glistened like diamonds. She’d not noticed the colour of them before. 

He said nothing, but held his hand out towards her. She took it immediately, and he led her to a space within the crowd, holding her hand in one with his other hand around her waist. 

“Green suits you,” he smirked, nodding towards her wrist.  
“It’s not my usual type,” she smiled back. “But I must admit, it’s growing on me.”

They danced quietly for a minute, but Hermione felt distracted by the surprised eyes she could see around her. He didn’t seem to notice. Ron caught her eye and pulled a horrified face and mouthed something along the lines of: ‘what the fuck?’ She gave him a stern ‘stay out of it’ look, which he was wise enough to do.

She looked at her unexpected dance partner who was gazing back at her, seemingly without a care in the world. “People are going to talk, you know,” Hermione claimed pointedly. “The infamous pure-blood Malfoy, dancing at the ball with a muggle like me.”  
He nodded and whispered confidently, “I hope so.”  
Hermione bit her lip and broke away from his eye contact, smitten. The boy in her arms was unrecognisable to the one she’d known before.

They danced for a while, swaying to the festive bells when she could wait no longer to ask the question that burned inside her from the start. “Why me?”  
He furrowed his brow. “What on earth do you mean?”  
Her expression was one of surprise. “Of all of the witches in this castle, why me?”  
He looked back at her softly. “What do you see, Granger? When you look at me. What do you see?”  
She paused for a moment, but knew exactly what to say. “Draco Malfoy. You’re incredibly intelligent - more so than you let others realise. I think you crave power because you’ve never had any real power in your life.” She hesitated again for a second, expecting him to intervene, but he didn’t. He looked back at her with the same patient expression as before.  
“Go on,” he urged.  
She took a breath. “I think you’ve been created and designed to hate certain people and certain things, yet you don’t actually feel that way. I don’t believe you actually hate Harry and Ron, but the Malfoy equation requires you to, so you comply with it. I think you want and deserve real love, real friendships, but are often surrounded by false promises. I think you want to be noticed for being you, and not the formula the name gives you. Although you like the way it makes you feel.”  
He nodded.  
“And I think you take a punch to the face pretty well,” she grinned.  
A laugh slipped through his lips. “That’s why,” he answered.  
“I’m still not sure I understand,” she admitted.  
“That’s why you. Of all the witches; you. You see me. Not the name, not the reputation. Me.”  
Hermione’s heart panged with the realisation that she knew Draco, seemingly more than anyone else did. She couldn’t help but wonder how you can know someone without realising it. She nodded and echoed, “I see you.”

The music suddenly simmered to nothing as Professor Dumbledore took centre stage and the students were ushered back to their seats. Draco reluctantly let her hand slip away from his and they parted ways, back to their prospective tables. 

Harry and Ron stared at her at their table, but she didn’t give in. She knew they would take some convincing to understand her new friendship, or whatever the hell this would turn into, but now was not the time.

The music returned for a final song before the ball came to a close. Hermione watched Malfoy rise from his seat, but instead of walking with his peers to the dance floor, he detoured towards the windows. He glanced across at her and gestured at the glass door that led to the balcony.

Before she knew it, her legs carried her immediately to the door. Her body craved his, already addicted to the proximity that she had only just become familiar with. She felt Harry and Ron’s eyes burning holes into her back, but she couldn’t even try to care.

When she pushed through the door, Malfoy looked back at her, his back leant against the balcony wall. She clicked the door shut and looked back at him, waiting for what he would say.

“We could take over the world, y’know,” he smirked.  
Hermione smiled back. “I don’t want to take over the world.”  
“But you do want to be the best,” he said knowingly as he stepped towards her.  
Hermione stayed planted but the smile stayed on her face. “So do you,” she acknowledged.  
“Exactly.” He was grinning now, slightly giddy as he stepped closer again. “Just imagine it,” he whispered, and peered down at her, delicately placing a hand against her cheek.  
Hermione’s heart pounded; if Malfoy was anything, he was captivating. And he had a very good point; they were the only two in Hogwarts with this level of determination. She closed the last little distance left between them and kissed him gently. 

She began to pull back, worried she’d been too eager, but felt his lips on her again. She melted into his embrace, feeling his hands over her back, and so ran hers over his chest and shoulders. His kisses were soft and warm; nothing like she’d expected.

Out of breath, she pulled back from him. He pressed his forehead against hers, not ready to let her go. 

Hearing the announcement that the ball had come to an end, the witch and wizard finally lost contact and Hermione opened the door. She looked back at him and ran a thumb over his cheek.  
“Goodnight, Draco,” she said softly.  
“Goodnight, Hermione.” 

She strode ahead of him across the hall, heart thumping at the sound of her name on his tongue. The hall was almost empty now aside from a few strays lingering around the sides of the room. Draco was still at the balcony door, watching the way her dress flowed behind her back as she stepped. 

“They’ll talk about you too, y’know,” he shouted after her, ignoring the others left in the room. “Being on the arm of a Slytherin like me.”  
Hermione span on her heel confidently, but he didn’t mirror her. For the first time, he seemed nervous; far from the usual assurance that usually oozed from his presence. Genuine concern. 

She simply smiled. “I hope so,” she shouted back, and continued her journey back to the dormitory.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you so much for reading - this fandom is bloody brilliant. <3


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